Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series

by Tara Crescent

  “One last time,” Patrick said, his voice steady. “Baby, for me. Okay?”

  I looked at him; nodded. “Hold the vibrator,” I whispered. “I want you to hold it while I come; I want to come for you…” I was almost incoherent with need.

  He looked at me; hot lust incandescent in his eyes. “Lisa,” his voice was a gentle caress; a vivid contrast to the heat. “You are sweet perfection.”

  The dildo moved within me, impossibly hard and fast, and his hand moved the vibrator to me, not pressing it hard into my clitoris, but holding it with the gentlest of touches, so that it felt like his tongue against my pussy, and I unravelled once more, shuddering and screaming, and moaning his name.

  I closed my eyes as I felt him unbuckle me; pull me into his arms, the scene forgotten.

  ***

  Patrick:

  There were no words to describe how amazing that had been.

  I carried her to my bedroom; set her down; pulled her into my body. My cock was throbbing and hard, but I ignored my need; I had a greater need to feel her entire body against mine; to feel her curled up into me, trusting and sweet and compliant and exhausted; to feel her relax against me as she gave into her fatigue.

  I held her in my arms as she dozed; looking down at her face.

  I was on the brink of falling hard for this girl; falling hard and deep and willingly. She was perfection; she was honest and open and trusting and brave; and I wanted everything she had to give. She set off an intensity of feeling in me; an intensity that had been absent in my life for a very long time.

  I laughed at myself. “Play it slow, Anderson,” I warned myself. I wasn’t about to do anything that would scare her off; I wanted her around for a long time.

  I lay there and watched her sleep.

  ***

  She stretched when she woke up, like a cat, all curves and grace. I smiled at her; I couldn’t stop smiling at her; I felt like a fool.

  “Hey there,” I said softly. I was nervous; she had enjoyed herself in the examination room, but I was also worried that it had been too intense; too much too soon.

  “It was amazing,” she said, reading my tone correctly. “Although, we’ve got to talk about how much money you are spending here. Fucking machines aren’t cheap.”

  “How would you know?” I teased, and was rewarded with a deep blush, and a pillow swiped at my head.

  “I think I owe you an orgasm,” she muttered. “Or several.”

  I laughed again. I was hard, of course; it seemed to be the default state when I had her in my arms; lust shot through me when I heard the smooth, smoky tone of her voice.

  I had taken my clothes off when I lay down next to her; wanting to feel her warmth against my body. Her hand reached for my erection, and she licked her lips. I groaned. “Baby, you are probably really, really sore,” I growled. I could hear the desperation in my voice; I wanted to be inside her with a shocking need, but I didn’t want to cause pain.

  She looked at me, need in her eyes. “I am sore,” she admitted, “but I still want you in me. Be gentle?”

  My heart actually jumped in my chest; she was so beautiful. I wanted to worship her and kiss her all over her body, but I fumbled for a condom, put it on with shaking hands, and slid into her waiting heat.

  This was not the fucking that legends are made of. I had been ready for hours; and I had two, maybe three strokes in me before I would explode. I did my best to slow it down; to give her pleasure; I lowered my mouth to her nipples and felt them harden under my tongue and teeth; I heard her groan as I moved deeper into her, but it was a groan of pleasure, and her muscles clenched and milked me, and much before I wanted to, I was exploding in her, shouting her name, winding her hair around my hands and pulling her closer into me as I came.

  I reached automatically for her clitoris, but she batted my hand away. “Touch it, and I will cut off your hand,” she growled, and I laughed at her again. I hadn’t heard this tone in her voice; and it was utterly sexy.

  “Sore, baby?” I teased her, and got another pillow swiped at my head for my trouble.

  I laughed again as I pulled out of her; got up to get rid of the condom. “Hungry?” I asked.

  “For food,” she replied, sweet threat still in her voice.

  My lips twitched. She weighed next to nothing, and she was tossing out the threats fearlessly. I loved it.

  “Come on, kitten,” I said, holding out my hands to help her up. “Let’s go find some food. I promise I’ll leave you alone tonight.”

  Chapter 10

  Lisa:

  I had called him Thursday afternoon. I’d hesitated all day; I didn’t want to seem too needy. But I had some preliminary sketches for his place, and he had told me to let him know when I had a proposal ready for him.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Hey baby,” he said softly. “How’s the soreness?”

  I flushed red. “Umm, okay,” I stammered. I took a deep breath; tried my best to sound professional. “I have some sketches for your place, if you are interested,” I said.

  “I’m very interested in anything you want to show me, baby,” he laughed. My lips twitched.

  “Sketches,” I said firmly. “Do you want to swing by my office sometime and take a look?”

  “Sure,” he said readily. “When?”

  “I’m free all tomorrow morning,” I said, looking at my planner.

  “Nine too early?” he asked. His voice teased; I was not a morning person.

  I smiled. “Nine’s fine,” I said. “Do you need the address?”

  “I’ll look it up,” he replied. “See you tomorrow, baby. Unless you want to come over tonight?”

  Oh, but I was tempted, seriously, seriously tempted. But it was all moving too fast, and I wanted to hang out by myself, watch some bad TV and drink some wine. I also wanted to know how he’d react to my refusal.

  “Can I take a raincheck?” I asked. I was listening carefully for signs of displeasure.

  “No worries,” he said easily. “See you tomorrow morning, Lisa.”

  ***

  “I’m still not entirely sure this is a good idea,” I started. He had been at my office at nine promptly with two cups of coffee in his hands; he had smiled and handed me one. He made me feel cherished with the simplest of actions. I pushed forward the concept sketches I’d made; the way I saw his house. I had spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday at work sketching.

  “I am.” He didn’t look at the sketches; he looked at me. “I love your condo; it’s beautiful and vibrant; personality-filled. I’ve seen your website; I’ve seen what you do for clients. None of the pictures look designed; they all look like they evolved; they all reflect the personality of their owners. You create what I want for my house. That’s why I want you.”

  I looked at him; trying to hide the pleasure in my eyes. This wasn’t a compliment about the way I looked, or the way I sucked him off, or the way I obeyed him. This was a compliment about the work I did; about the passion I brought to each client. I was moved by what he said, and it made me feel vulnerable inside. Too much, too soon.

  “Okay,” I said softly, dropping my eyes. “Take a look at the sketches then, tell me what you think.”

  He looked at them silently, and I waited, sipping my coffee, watching his face. Finally, he looked up. “I love them,” he said.

  A smile broke out on my face.

  “There’s only one problem, my house is on the Heritage Property list.”

  I flushed, feeling like a fool. I should have guessed; he lived in Rosedale; it was chock-full of heritage homes. Old Money Toronto.

  “That changes things,” I said. “Sorry, I should have looked it up.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly, his eyes soft. “What does it change?”

  “The upstairs porch is most likely out,” I said. “The City won’t grant you a permit for that; too much structural modification. You will most likely be able to able to create the walk-out from your kitchen thoug
h, but you will need a permit. Everything else should be okay.”

  “How long will the permit take?” he asked.

  “Two months. I’ve a contact at the planning office; he speeds things along for me,” I replied. He was asking me work questions, and I was in my element.

  “What will it cost?”

  I shrugged apologetically. “I’ll have to redo my numbers; the upstairs porch was probably the most expensive bit. But if you want the whole house done, it’ll probably cost you about four or five hundred thousand dollars.”

  He didn’t even blink. “Seems reasonable,” was all he said. “Do it.”

  “Patrick,” I protested. This felt weird. “Listen, I’m happy to give you advice; steer you towards someone else; this feels strange.”

  “Why?” he asked directly.

  “Cause it feels like I’m using you for your money,” I answered, exasperated.

  His lips twitched. “Are you?” he asked me.

  “No,” I said, a little offended.

  “Then stop worrying about it,” he said. “Your quote is reasonable, and I love your work. Do you need an advance to get the permit process started?”

  My typical answer would have been yes; I got paid ten percent up front. But the situation was strange enough, and I didn’t want Patrick writing me a check. “No,” I muttered.

  Who was I kidding? Despite the risk of complication, I wanted to do his house. I wanted to entwine myself in his life; make him part of mine. I was walking on a ledge though, one that could crumble at any moment. That was the risk I took.

  “Okay, on to more important things,” he said, leaning back in his chair. We were alone in my office; Natalie was only coming in at noon. “Am I seeing you tonight?” His question was direct.

  I looked at him. After Wednesday, we hadn’t made plans on when we were going to see each other again. But I’d hoped it would be tonight, and I’d cleared my schedule, opting out of drinks with my crew, on the off-chance he’d call.

  “If you want,” I said softly.

  “Oh, I want,” he replied, his eyes roaming all over me. “Come here,” he ordered, patting his lap. “Come sit down on my lap, I want to feel your pussy grind against me.”

  I flushed at his words. “Is this what you think design services include?” I asked snidely.

  He laughed, long and hard. “Lisa, Lisa. The things you say.” He grinned at me. “But that gives me some ideas of the way to handle things when delays happen, as they undoubtedly will.” He sipped his coffee; looked into my eyes, and continued. “I want you to come sit in my lap because for the last thirty six hours, all I’ve been thinking about is the way you feel against me.”

  My breath caught in my throat; I got up and walked towards him. I was wearing a pencil skirt; Patrick urged it up so that it bunched around my hips. Underneath, I’d worn a pair of purple silk panties with strategic lace insets; Patrick’s breathing stilled as they came into view.

  “Was this for me?” he murmured, reaching out and tracing the outline of the panties against my hip. I held my breath; feeling the tingles of arousal run through me.

  “A little,” I said honestly. “But mostly, I just like lingerie.”

  He smiled at me. “Good to know,” he said. “And if I bought you something, would you get offended?”

  “No,” I said, my cheeks flushed as I contemplated that image, wearing something he’d picked out for me; something he had imagined me in. “That would be pretty hot, actually.”

  He grinned. “Such a good girl,” he said, pulling me onto his lap so I was sitting facing him, legs straddling the sides of the chair. He leaned forward; kissed me, his tongue sliding into my mouth insistently; and I surrendered without a fight, grabbing the back of his head to pull him closer to me, opening my mouth with a sigh.

  As our tongues danced together, his hands were at my front, unbuttoning my black silk shirt, parting the front to see the matching purple bra underneath. His fingers traced the outline of the bra, then his mouth followed; his tongue licking where my skin met the bra.

  I expected him to take my bra off; to feel his mouth on my nipples, but after he licked the swell of my breasts, he went back up to my face, raining little kisses on my jaw, on my neck, along the curve where my neck met my shoulder, then on my shoulder. His hands caressed my arms; held me close to him, as his mouth, with its tiny little kisses drove me to distraction.

  “Patrick,” I groaned. “Stop teasing me.”

  He ignored my plea; he inclined my body away from him, and his mouth kissed a line on my stomach, from my bra to the waistband of my skirt.

  “Patrick,” I moaned again.

  “Lisa,” he said calmly. He moved his mouth away from my body and pulled me back into him; his hands at my sides. I was pressed against him, and I was exactly where I wanted to be.

  “So, tonight,” he muttered. “I’ll pick you up at 6pm; if that’s okay?”

  I looked at him in disbelief. My panties were wet; my insides were fluttering, and he was just going to leave me hanging? He grinned at me. He was indeed going to leave me hanging. Jerk. I strove for calm; I wasn’t going to beg him to continue; that would be mortifying.

  “6pm, yeah, that’s fine,” I said, keeping my voice level with a struggle. “Can you pick me up here? I’m going to be at a client site this afternoon; but I was planning on coming back to the office.”

  He nodded. “Anything you want to do?”

  I looked at him. The need was still coursing through me, and he was calm and discussing logistics. I wanted to hit him on the head with a binder. “Surprise me,” I said instead, winking.

  His lips twitched; he lifted me off him easily, and got up. His erection was visible, and he adjusted himself with no sign of embarrassment. He leaned forward, kissed me again, and there was passion in his touch.

  “Remember, baby,” he whispered in my ear. “I’ll take care of you tonight; no masturbating until then.”

  I groaned in protest, but I nodded.

  Chapter 11

  Patrick:

  Okay, that was cruel.

  I wasn’t deliberately trying to be cruel; I wasn’t a total jerk. But I couldn’t see her without wanting her with an intensity that jolted me. I was just going to kiss her, and then I saw the panties, and things escalated. Fine. I’m making excuses.

  I wanted to actually take her out tonight. So far, we’d been out together once; the rest of the times, we’d just humped like bunnies. Not that I didn’t like the humping, because I most certainly did, but I also wanted to just get to know her.

  The restaurants I typically went to were ‘cheap and cheerful’; the food was always delicious; but things like décor and ambience weren’t a priority. As a teenager, eating in these places was an act of rebellion, but over time, I realized I just like these places for their focus on the food, not the pretension.

  I debated taking her someplace fancier, but I decided against it. Fancy was easy enough; I wanted to share the places I truly enjoyed; reveal something of myself in where I took her.

  ***

  She looked around the tiny Chinese restaurant I’d taken her to with interest. “I’ve never been here before,” she commented.

  “They have great dumplings,” I said. “You’d swear you were in China.”

  “I’ve never been,” she said. “I want to, though. I’ve heard it’s pretty hard if you don’t speak any Mandarin.”

  I laughed; agreed. “It’s an entirely different experience if you speak Mandarin, even just a little.”

  “You do?” she arched an eyebrow.

  I nodded. “Legacy of a misspent youth,” I replied. “I bummed around most of the world for a few years before I went to college.”

  “For how long?” she asked me, interested.

  “Four years,” I said. “I was being rebellious.”

  “Explain,” she said. “I mean, I would understand a year. But four years is a long time.”

  I took a deep breath. There was
a lot in my life that could scare Lisa off, and I really didn’t want to do that. “My parents wanted me to work in the family business,” I said, intentionally vague. I didn’t add that the family business was listed on the TSX. “I didn’t. We had a huge fight; I left.”

  “Wow,” she said, taking a sip of her tea, staring at me. “For four years?”

  I nodded. “I mean, I wasn’t a jerk; I kept in touch; they knew where I was. But I didn’t want the path they wanted for me.”

  “So, when did medical school happen?” she asked.

  “After. I was twenty four when I went to pre-med; thirty-one when I graduated med school. Then, six years of residency.”

  I could see her do the calculations in her head. “How old are you?” she asked directly. “My initial guess seems to be wrong.”

  My lips twitched. “Forty-two.”

  “You look good for forty-two,” she said, grinning, shamelessly checking me out. I laughed with her.

  “Okay,” I said. “Your turn to answer questions.”

  “Ask away,” she said, still laughing.

  Our waitress appeared at that moment, interrupting our conversation, refilling our tea and taking away the little sheet onto which we’d checked off what we wanted.

  Once she’d left, I turned back to Lisa. “Okay, where did you grow up?”

  “Here, in Toronto,” she said promptly. “You?”

  “I thought I was asking the questions,” I mock-grumbled. “Yup, Toronto as well. Still my turn.”

  “Parents? Siblings? Childhood? Fill me in.”

  She laughed at me. “That’s like three questions in one, and three detailed questions to boot.”

  “Okay. My parents live in Toronto; I see them about once a week. Though right now, they are in Turkey on a month-long vacation. No siblings, more or less happy childhood, incredibly awkward teenage years, then college, then I worked for some design firms, before taking the plunge when I was thirty, and branching out on my own.”